


And Walk In Love

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [27]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 07, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5605222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It's a trick, Cas,” Dean barked.  “Don't believe a word she says.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Walk In Love

Dean felt his jaw drop in disbelief as Castiel's unexpected offer floated in the air. _What the fuck, Cas?_ he thought, sending the heated query pulsing through their bond, and feeling the angel flinch in response. _Give him Crowley? What the holy fuck? Don't you dare set a foot outside of those wards! You hear me, Cas?_

Satael's grip remained firm upon him, but his head turned towards Castiel, and a deep frown furrowed his brow as he slowly lowered his sword. “What makes you think, brother, that a demon is the proper currency with which to barter for this human's life?”

“I–I don't know,” Castiel said. “I thought... I thought, perhaps, that displaying Crowley as a trophy would bring you great honour in Heaven. There has been a price on his head for many centuries, but he always managed to elude us.”

“Do you think so little of me that you believe I would stoop to claim the honour due another?” Satael growled. 

“No!” Castiel hastened to assure him. “That is not what I meant.”

Satael gave Dean a shake that made his brain feel as if it was a loose marble clattering around in a can. “Do you care so much for this human that you can't think at all?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Castiel's reply, no embarrassment in admitting to his weakness.

Satael pondered on this revelation a moment, staring at Dean through cold and narrowed eyes. “You deserted the battlefield for _this?”_ he sneered.

“I did,” Castiel admitted. “And I would do so again, should he have need of me.”

“You had no regard for the outcome of our battle.”

“I was in a battle of my own, facing the formidable ally of the foe besieging Heaven.” Castiel's voice resonated with anger. “And when Stheno came to me in all her fury, and _your_ battle shifted to another field, I held my ground against her. Only the human you revile stood by my side. He and his brother. Where were you? Where were _my_ brothers when I needed them? I would think very carefully of your answer before accusing _me_ of desertion.” 

“Satael?” The female angel who had healed Dean of his self-inflicted injuries stepped to the furious angel's side. “This is not why we are here. God has given us specific orders. Do you dare to disobey?”

Satael's stormy gaze dropped to the ground. “No,” he growled and abruptly released his death grip on Dean.

“About time you came to your senses,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his abused arm. “So, all mighty commander, just what is it that you came here to do?”

“Oh,” the female angel said, “Satael is not our commander. He and I are of equal rank. As are many others in our midst.”

“Huh?” Dean said.

“That is true,” Castiel confirmed. “Satael, Dardiel and I each command a garrison. We are all of equal rank.”

“No,” Satael snarled. “We are no longer equals.”

“Of course,” Castiel nodded. “I have been demoted.”

“No,” Satael repeated, looking very much as if he had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon.

“I don't understand.”

“ _You_ are our commander, Castiel,” Dardiel gently informed him. “God has sent us to do your bidding.”

  


~*~

  


“My bidding,” Castiel repeated, the words echoing in the sudden, unnerving silence that had once again fallen over the multitude of angels. “And what, exactly, is it that I should bid you do?”

“We are here to mend the damage Stheno caused. You know Earth better than we do. You are to guide us in this mission.”

“It's a trick, Cas,” Dean barked. “Don't believe a word she says.”

Dardiel cast the hunter a gentle, reproving look and drifted closer to the foot of the porch stairs. “You are injured, brother,” she said softly, her head canted to one side as her sympathetic eyes assessed him. “There is no need for you to suffer. Come...” She held out an open hand in invitation. “Commune with us. Let us begin our task by healing you.”

“No!” Dean cried, and rudely shouldered her aside as he swiftly moved to place himself between Castiel and the other angels. Bristling with fury, he pressed his back against Castiel and Sam, effectively blocking the doorway and ensuring no one could slip past his guard. The glare he directed at Dardiel promised grievous harm would come her way if she didn't back the hell off. “This is a trick,” he repeated. “Step outside, and they have you.”

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, and as Dean spun on his heel to face his angel, Sam retreated into the house, granting them what little privacy he could. Less sensitive to social mores, the angels perked up their ears to listen in on their low-toned conversation.

“Dean, do you trust me?”

“You know I do.” Dean jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. “They're the ones I don't trust.”

“They are telling the truth.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure they are. Because angels never lie.”

“Not to each other, they don't. They can't. It is a metaphysical impossibility.”

“You telling me Zachariah and Uriel never set your Spidey senses tingling?” 

“Zachariah believed that what he was doing was right. He was unscrupulous and unkind to humans – most notably, you – but he did not lie to his fellow angels. Uriel made no secret of his hatred of humanity. When he decided to turn against God, the taint of his duplicity was seared into his true form. The stench of Lucifer grew stronger upon him with every passing day.”

“And what about Gabriel? He popped out lies as if he was a Pez dispenser.”

“Yes, he did. And while I could not always discern the truth behind those lies, I still knew that they were lies.”

“Anna.” 

“If you have no reason to look beyond the surface meaning of another's words, even an angel may be fooled. So Anael deceived Uriel. But, I assure you, I have looked deep within the very core of this assembly. There is no deception here. No secret agenda. If you cannot trust them, Dean, trust me. They are truly here to help. Do they not propose a worthy cause?”

Green orbs locked with blue, long moments passing unheeded as they gazed into each other's eyes.

“Okay,” Dean said slowly. “Okay, Cas. I don't like it, but it's your call.” 

Castiel nodded, delaying only long enough to brush a kiss across Dean's lips before calmly stepping past his lover and the safety of the wards.

Dean found himself holding his breath as Castiel descended the few steps necessary to reach the yard, more than half expecting the skies to open up and rain God's – or more likely the angels' – wrath down upon him. But nothing happened. The sky remained as clear and blue as Castiel's eyes. Not a cloud was in sight, not a rumble of thunder sounded.

Castiel declined to take Dardiel's hand, but followed closely behind her as she silently led the way toward the waiting angels. He paused as they reached the midpoint, turning back to level a commanding gaze on Dean. “Take Sam and Bobby to the panic room,” he said. “Shut the door, and close your eyes. This is about to become sacred ground, consecrated by angels in Holy Communion. It is not for human eyes. Not because you are excluded from the blessing, but rather because so many true forms in one place will burn your mortal bodies to ash.”

“Cas...” Dean began.

“Please, Dean.”

Dean nodded. He only looked back once as he shepherded Sam and Bobby away from the open door. Castiel stood in the centre of a circle of angels, their hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Concentric rings of angels stood beyond the inner circle, hands on the shoulders of the angels before them, faces turned up to the sky. 

Castiel met Dean's eye and frowned. “Go,” he mouthed, and turned his own face towards the Heavens.

Dean's feet pounded down the stairs as he hastened to comply. He was scarcely inside the room before Bobby slammed the door shut behind him. And not a second too soon...

For a moment, it looked as if the mothership from _Close Encounters_ was trying to crawl under the door. Impossibly, the brilliance increased – at which point, Dean joined Sam and Bobby in following Castiel's advice and closing his eyes. Bottles and boxes and arcane knickknacks rattled on the shelf – in fact, the whole house seemed to rock and rattle, creak and moan. Even Dean's teeth ached, as if they were rattling too. And then silence fell. A complete and utter silence. Dean warily cracked open a single eye, and peered around. The unearthly light was gone. Bright purple spots danced in the air, partially obscuring his vision, as he opened his other eye and glanced around the panic room.

“Looks like the light show's over,” Bobby grumbled, rubbing his fists against his eyelids like a sleepy child. “Do you think it's safe to go outside?”

But Dean was already out the door and halfway up the stairs. As he careened into the hallway, he ran smack dab into Castiel, who was hastening towards him. Quick hands shot out to catch the human as he rebounded; Dean's fingers tightened on the angel's shoulders in reply. 

_Damn, but Cas looks good,_ Dean thought, eyes sweeping anxiously across Castiel’s face. The lines of pain that had creased his forehead were smoothed away. His cheeks were tinged a healthy pink; the shadows beneath his eyes were gone. Obviously, the angelic power boost had fully restored his depleted grace.

A gentle hand moved to cup Dean's face, fingers lingering at his temple. A wave of heat surged through his body as Castiel's grace crept through his pores, travelled through his veins, tingling, healing... making its way from cell to cell.

Warm arms wrapped around him, keeping him from falling to the floor in a melted puddle of relaxed relief. And when Castiel drew him closer still, and kissed him, starlight exploded in his mind. He hung suspended in a swirling nebula that existed outside of time. He breathed in the scents of worlds unknown to mankind; tasted honey and champagne, and something sweeter that he couldn't quite identify, but he knew he wanted more of it whatever it was. He trembled at the touch of an ethereal breeze, flew into the liquid centre of the sun, felt star dust in his hair...

“Whoa,” he murmured, as his lips finally, reluctantly, parted from Castiel's. “I'm tripping, man.”

Castiel's low rumble of laughter was the ocean lapping at the shore. “You're high on grace,” he observed, pressing a chaste kiss to Dean's forehead. “I'm rather high myself. All that shared grace... It's exhilarating. I should have waited to kiss you. I knew what might happen... but I couldn't wait.”

“If that's the result of a single kiss,” Dean said, “I'd hate to think what doing it would be like right now.” He frowned. “No, I take that back. I'd very much like to know.”

“As would I, beloved. Unfortunately, duty calls.” Castiel sighed. “My brothers are waiting for me to return. There is much to do.”

“Then let's get started,” Dean replied.

  


~*~

  


The damage the Gorgon had caused was great indeed. A disaster on a scale no living humans had ever seen. Repairing that damage proved to be a Herculean task even with the assistance of angels.

Dardiel retained the sunny disposition of his female vessel, and threw himself into caring for the sick and injured as if it were a calling, not a chore. For this reason alone, Dean decided Dardiel was his second favourite angel ever. “It has nothing to do with the fact that she's easy on the eyes,” he told his smirking brother. “She's a real trooper. On top of that, she's good to Cas, and that's good enough for me.”

The garrison under Dardiel's command was run with quiet efficiency, the angels working as discreetly as they could to restore the natural balance of nature as well as to return damaged property to its original state. Houses and hospitals sprang up over night; roads and bridges were repaired. Crops flourished in fields that had been laid to waste, and smouldering forests turned lush and green again. Rivers ran sedately in their beds, volcanos resumed their slumber, and scattered families found themselves miraculously reunited. 

It was not, unfortunately, within the angels' mandate to bring back those who had lost their lives, but they did all that they could do to comfort the grieving. Overall, they reaped more tears of joy than they did of sadness, for the miracles they freely offered were more than the hapless victims of Stheno's rampage had ever wished might come to be.

Castiel's garrison worked with similar devotion and competency. In fact, he soon designated his second in command, Myrriel, to take charge while he turned his attention to a more pressing concern: the surly commander of the third garrison.

Satael was not happy with his assignment, and he made no effort to conceal this fact. The angels under his command milled around a good portion of the time, confused and lacking direction. They were absurdly grateful when Castiel stepped forward to help them fulfill their mission. Satael was less than pleased. That displeasure only increased when he found himself all too frequently subordinate to Dean. The human proved particularly adept at assigning Satael demeaning chores – at least, he felt they were beneath him. That other angels accepted the same tasks without complaint did not seem to register in his mind. For an angel to serve a mud monkey was wrong, and that was that.

And so his mind remained unchanged and unchangeable. Until one day in a small, backwoods Montana town. Until the moment he stood coldly assessing how best to approach the task he’d been assigned, and found himself distracted by a gentle tug on his sleeve.

“You're hurt,” a small voice said.

Satael glanced down. A little girl stood looking up at him. Her face was dirty, her clothes torn, her mousy brown, matted hair drawn back in a messy ponytail. She pointed to his hand, indicating a minor injury that he had not yet bothered to heal.

'It is nothing,' he was about to say, but before the words could leave his lips, he found himself distracted by the child's beatific smile. Triumphantly, she pulled something from her pocket and held it up for his inspection. He had no idea what it was she offered, but it seemed to please her greatly. The tongue peeping from the corner of her mouth indicating the degree of her concentration, she peeled back the paper to reveal a colourful strip of plastic.

“This is SpongeBob,” she said, carefully sticking the bandaid on the angel's hand. “Mommy says he's the best. He always makes my boo-boos feel better.”

 _Say thank you, brother,_ Castiel advised, glancing over at the strange tableau and instantly realizing just how out of his depth the other angel felt.

“Thank you,” Satael said, almost toppling over when the little girl unexpectedly wrapped her arms around his legs in reply. Uncertainly, he rested a hand on her head, inexplicably moved to heal the faulty valve that guarded her generous heart.

In silence, he watched as she scampered back towards her family, unaware of the blessing he had just bestowed upon her. “She has so little,” he murmured, gesturing to the shanty that was their temporary shelter. “Yet she gives so freely.”

Castiel smiled. “Humans never fail to amaze me.”

“I think I'm beginning to understand your fondness for them,” Satael admitted, his eyes trained on the bright, sparkling diamond that was the child's soul. “Some of them,” he amended. “Others,” he shrugged. “The attraction continues to elude me.”

Castiel laughed, the sound drawing Satael's startled attention. “He grows on you,” he chuckled, gesturing to Dean. The hunter was barking orders at a dozen or so angels, obviously impatient with their slow progress. “Look past the gruff exterior, Satael. Look – really look – at our Father's Righteous Man.”

Satael scowled, but obeyed. It was amusing watching the quick play of emotions cross his normally implacable face: disbelief fading to confusion, acceptance merging into wonder...

Castiel followed his brother's gaze. If the child's soul was a ray of sunshine, Dean's was a supernova in comparison. His soul burned; it blazed; it reached out to touch those around him, offering encouragement and hope. It flared more brightly still when his eyes touched upon Sam, his love for his brother a tangible thing. And when he turned his gaze to Castiel...

“Oh,” Satael whispered, and let his glance fall humbly to the ground. Only in his Father's presence had he felt such limitless power. It was too beautiful to behold – too brilliant, too blinding. Too much to fully comprehend.

“How do you stand it?” he asked, daring to lift his eyes to the recipient of such boundless love. 

Castiel was still smiling, but his smile had softened from amusement to deep, abiding contentment. An answering glow began to surrounded him, tendrils of his aura reaching out to brush against Dean's. The very air vibrated with their astral connection, and more than one angel's head turned as they sensed the bond the angel and the human shared.

“He is mine and I am his,” he finally responded. “It is no burden, brother. It is more than I could ever have hoped, more than I dared dream.”

“Angels do not hope, Castiel. They do not dream. They serve God. That is their sole purpose.”

“As it was mine.”

“Then how?”

“Dean,” Castiel stated simply. “He became my purpose.”

“That's dangerously close to blasphemy, brother.”

“No.” Castiel shook his head in firm denial. “It is an exercise of free will. God Himself confirmed this.”

“And if He had not?”

“Then I would have embraced blasphemy.” Castiel said softly. “Dean is and always shall be my first and only choice. There is no other path for me.”


End file.
